Appreciation
by DragonDi
Summary: There were clues that Remus wasn't celibate while Sirius was in prison. And Sirius needs to learn how to deal with it. Warning: Slash!


**A/N**: **I seem to be in a RL/SB slashy mood recently (_remuslives23's fault_). I have no clue why (_remuslives23's fault_). Anyhow, hope you like! (_Have I mentioned it's remuslives23's fault?_) **

**By the way, if you haven't been reading remuslives23's story 'Muse', recently, you are missing out! Her 'Muse' is inspiring! (_I TOLD you it was remuslives23's fault_!)**

**Disclaimer: Not my pups. I borrowed them from JKRowling so they could romp a bit!**

There were some things that Sirius just knew instinctively; intrinsically. That he and Remus had much to make up for was one of those things. Yes, there had been time and love lost that they would try to reclaim, but there was also the bitter fact of Sirius' lack of faith in Remus. How, Sirius often wondered, could one make _that_ up to a friend, a mate, a lover?

He tried to explain his frustration to Remus, but the man was his typical stoic self: "Don't worry about things that we can do nothing about. We have this moment _now_. Enjoy it."

It was strange how their roles had reversed so much in the past twelve years. It had once been Sirius who lived in the moment, not asking for anything other than to feel and experience things as they happened. Remus was the one who tried to find a deeper meaning in things, was the one who constantly had one eye on things that had happened in the past because they coloured his future.

Now, Remus seemed to seize onto every moment that they had together and squeezed every drop of enjoyment and life and love from it. Even the horrible moments, like coming back to Grimmauld Place were infused with acceptance and a 'pull-yourself-together-and-get-on-with-it' sort of attitude.

Sirius, on the other hand, couldn't seem to escape the unavoidable fact that he'd misread a situation so desperately that he'd caused James' and Lily's deaths. His nightmares were terrible, his thoughts oppressive. It wasn't surprising to anyone that he'd resorted to drinking more than what was healthy for any one man. Remus would quirk an eyebrow at him every time he opened a new bottle of alcohol but said nothing. Sirius had the feeling that his lover was silent because he himself had found comfort in liquor at some point, but didn't ask. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know that Remus had felt the same horrible, debilitating depression that he had fallen into. And that it was his fault.

Remus said little about the twelve years during which Sirius was locked in Azkaban. When Sirius tentatively asked what he'd done, the man had smiled and said, "This and that. Not nearly as exciting as you would have liked. Almost not even worth talking about."

The fact that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes cued Sirius into knowing that those years hadn't been easy ones. It added even more fuel to Sirius' self-incriminations...

And so Sirius didn't ask.

He also refused to ask the one question that he knew Remus was waiting for him to ask: "Was there anyone else?"

He refused to ask because he knew there had been.

Oh, Remus would never be so crass as to say, "By the by, Sirius, hope you don't mind that I found someone in Romania, or France, or Scotland..."

But there were signs.

One of Remus' favourite books bore a distinctly masculine handwriting on the inside cover. The only word that Sirius could read was 'Remus', though were two or three sentences. He thought it might be something like Romanian or some kind of Slovakian, but he wasn't sure. There was no signature.

There was a cloak clasp with a small sapphire that Remus never wore after Sirius had commented that it was the same colour as Remus' eyes.

Sirius had even spied a Muggle photograph of a man, probably in his thirties, who was smiling broadly at the camera. It had fallen out of one of Remus' books and when Sirius had handed it back to his lover, Remus had said, "Someday, I'll learn to use bookmarks instead of whatever is handy."

But the fact that Remus hadn't been celibate while Sirius was locked up was even more evident when they were in bed.

There were many things Sirius had forgotten because of the tricks that the Dementors had played with his happy memories. There were many things he'd forgotten merely because of the passage of time. But he was certain he would have remembered some of the things that Remus did to him now. Yes, they had needed time to reacquaint themselves with what made each other gasp, moan, and cry out. But it seemed like Remus knew a lot more than Sirius remembered him knowing.

When he would comment, "That was different," or "I don't remember ever doing that before", he would feel Remus' tension and an awkward, expectant silence would fall, as if Remus were daring him to ask.

But he didn't.

February came and with it came disturbing news about Voldemort's efforts to recruit another talented potions master.

"Michel Fontinbleu has been approached," Dumbledore announced one evening almost immediately upon arrival and making certain that most of the Order's members were in attendance. "Severus says he is extremely talented and has extensively researched some of the world's mostly deadly poisons. He claims to have come up with a universal antidote to at least three of them. While many say it is impossible, that the poisons are much too different to have any commonality to be able to develop one antidote, Severus says that there may be some method in his supposed madness. He says that if there is one man who can effectively render such a thing, it would be Fontinbleu."

"Do we know if he is seriously considering You-Know-Who's offer, whatever that may be?" Kingsley asked.

Alastor Moody spoke before Dumbledore could reply. "He had a sister that was killed by Lestrange—the elder one, not those idiots, Rabastan and Rodolphus. He'll be in no hurry to give Voldemort the time of day."

Dumbledore raised a hand to stop them. "Actually, Fontinbleu himself sent me a message, asking me for help. He says he has no love for the Death Eaters or their agenda and wants no part of it. I was hoping our talented Aurors might be able to come up with a plan to remove him from view, though not necessarily the country. He may be willing to do some work for us, if we can provide him with safety."

"Does he have a family that needs protecting as well?" Kingsley asked.

"His parents are dead; and, as I said, so is his sister," Moody said. "I don't know if he has a wife or children."

"I don't believe he has a wife," Dumbledore said slowly, "though he did mention a partner."

"A business partner? A researching partner?" Tonks asked.

Remus suddenly cleared his throat gently. "I believe he might have meant a, er, life partner."

There was a moment of silence. While the Order was aware of Sirius' and Remus' involvement, that didn't mean that they were always comfortable with it. Remus' quiet comment caused more than one Order member to squirm slightly.

"Okay, so we'll have to hide two men, then," Moody said, recovering quickly and already beginning to put together the possibilities and the problems. "That's easier than a family with small children."

As the Aurors continued to pump Dumbledore for information, Sirius found himself watching Remus. While it would seem to everyone else that the werewolf was merely listening intently, there was a faraway look in his eyes that Sirius recognised as meaning Remus was lost very deeply in thought. The slight furrow just above the bridge of his nose meant that he was troubled.

Almost dreading the answer, Sirius leaned over and whispered directly into Remus' ear, "Do you know Fontinbleu?"

Remus jerked at the sudden interruption of his reverie, but didn't turn to look at Sirius as he nodded — which the Animagus found telling in itself.

"Should I ask how well you know him?" Sirius pressed.

"Not now, Sirius!" Remus hissed irritably, rising and going to pour himself some more tea. He didn't return to his chair.

Sirius sighed and forced himself to pay attention to the rest of the meeting because he didn't want to think about the fact that he was going to have to finally confront Remus about things they had very deliberately ignored.

The issue of Fontinbleu hung over their heads all that evening. Remus was uptight in preparation for his lover's inevitable questions, but Sirius couldn't seem to get the words right in his head. He couldn't blame Remus for finding comfort — even love — in another's arms, but dammit, it hurt! He wanted to ask, to confront, to accuse — to condemn, perhaps... But he had no right to do any of it. Considering his lack of trust, his own faithlessness, how could he criticise Remus for being unfaithful?

It was a long, tense, silent evening during which Remus struggled with some translations and Sirius looked for some obscure reference for Dumbledore ("Moony, what in the hell is a Horcrux, anyway?") in his father's library. It was early by their usual reckoning when Remus excused himself to take a shower.

Sirius waited a few minutes until he was sure the werewolf was gone and drained his glass of wine. He didn't know what he was going to say to Remus. All he knew was that, no matter what was said, Remus needed to know that he'd already been forgiven. They'd already lost twelve years. They were in the midst of another war. Only the gods knew how much more time they'd have together. They didn't have time to let Sirius' insecurities about Remus' past lovers come between them.

He went upstairs to his bedroom and, after stripping down to his briefs, slipped between the sheets...

The pipes soon stopped rattling and Sirius waited patiently for the werewolf to emerge from the bathroom right across the hall. He tried to gauge how soon Remus would appear by picturing the other man drying off and then getting dressed and brushing his teeth...

Almost right on cue, Remus opened the door and, without looking into Sirius' room, started for his own, which was right next to Sirius'. He didn't often sleep there; he usually slept there only when the kids were home or when Sirius was so stinking drunk that no one could stand it. There had been only one time that they'd fought so heatedly that Remus had chosen to sleep apart from him. It hurt Sirius' heart that Remus obviously thought this was another one of those times.

"Remus," Sirius called softly.

The werewolf stopped and then slowly retraced his steps until he was standing in the doorway.

"I'm not angry," Sirius said.

He saw the uncertainty in Remus' eyes. He saw the trepidation.

So he tried again. "I know and I'm not angry."

Slowly, the other man came into the room until he was standing right beside the bed. Sirius held out his hand, waiting until finally Remus tangled their fingers together and allowed the dark-haired man to pull him down on the bed.

Their lips met almost tentatively once, twice and then Remus pushed Sirius back gently.

"While you were in Azkaban... I wasn't... Gods, Sirius, I thought you were as just as guilty as they said you were."

"I don't blame you for that, Moony."

"I was... angry. Confused. Especially for the first three or four years."

"Understandable."

"I didn't want to get close to anyone ever again," Remus said, softly. "And I didn't. Usually."

Sirius couldn't breathe. "But sometimes you did."

He had known. He had _known._ The stake in his heart was not any smaller for the knowing.

Remus passed a hand over his wet hair. "I couldn't get you out of my head, Sirius. I couldn't get you out of my _heart_. Merlin knows I tried." He stopped at Sirius' sharp inhalation and reached over to touch Sirius' cheek with the backs of his fingers. "It kills me knowing that you were innocent that entire time and I was trying to hate you. I was trying to forget you, trying not to remember how you looked and how you felt—and no one could make me forget."

And then Sirius gathered his Gryffindor bravery and asked hoarsely, "How many were there? How many did you sleep with, trying to forget me?"

"How many did I use, do you mean?" Remus shook his head and retracted his hand. "More than I can recall. There are stretches of time I don't remember well because of one reason or another. I buried myself in alcohol and drugs and willing bodies..." He stopped and swallowed hard. "I'm not proud of myself, Sirius."

"And Fontinbleu?"

Remus closed his eyes and sighed. "I met him not long after I'd finally hit the bottom of my rather ignominious dive into depression. He was everything you weren't — quiet, patient, humble..." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "I wanted someone as unlike you as possible."

"How long —?" Sirius couldn't finish the question.

"Three months," Remus said. "He couldn't deal with my lycanthropy. The first month I found an excuse to be away. The second month, he was away. The third month, I had no choice but to tell him. It —didn't go well."

"The scars didn't give it away?"

"He didn't want to believe it, so he believed the stupid, ridiculous excuses I gave him."

"Did you — care for him?"

"No. Not really." Remus huffed in quiet laughter. "He helped me out of my depression and he helped me realise I could actually live without needing to numb myself, and I have to thank him for that. But, to hear him before I left, I hated him. I endangered him—could have killed him, he said—and I was too obsessed with my former lover, insane and murderous as he was, to ever be involved with anyone in a normal relationship."

This time, they did smile at one another, suddenly realising that the tension and the anxiety from earlier had disappeared.

Sirius placed his hand on Remus' thigh. "I'm not angry, Moony."

"You should be."

"You should be angry with me and you're not."

Blue eyes met grey for the first time that evening. "Michel was right, you know," Remus said. "I never could be involved with anyone because I was too obsessed with you. In fact," he reached out and ran his fingers through the hair above Sirius' right ear, "I still am, I think."

"You think? You _think_?" The Animagus laughed. "Maybe I need to do something to convince you I'm absolutely worth obsessing over."

Their mouths met in a clash of teeth and groans of pleasure and need. Hands touched, caressed, groped before beginning to tug at clothing that was quickly becoming superfluous. Breath was found in gasps between soul-melting kisses and whispered endearments.

"Want you," Sirius panted as his fingers skimmed down Remus' chest.

Remus moaned and rolled onto his back, pulling Sirius on top of him.

Their cocks rubbed against each other, and even though two layers of cotton were trapped between them, the heat and hardness was easily felt.

Sirius entwined his fingers with Remus' and then brought their hands over Remus' head. "How about if I tie you up tonight?" he asked with a leer.

"You're becoming a kinky bugger," Remus teased lightly.

"Is this the time to point out that you did this to me first?"

Remus snickered.

Sirius pulled one hand free to grab his wand. With a cheeky grin, he aimed his wand at Remus' arms and whispered a word. Silken scarves shot out from the tip of his wand, wrapping themselves around the werewolf's wrists. A Sticking charm kept the ends anchored to the headboard.

Remus raised his chin as Sirius licked the side of his neck. "Mmm . You're tasty, Moony." A quick nip punctuated the comment and Sirius moved a little lower to nibble on his lover's collarbone.

He listened closely to Remus' breathing to give him clues as to how successful he was in his efforts to arouse, fully intending on bringing Remus to an orgasm that the werewolf wouldn't soon forget. He tried to attack every erogenous zone that he could think of—and explored a few other places beside.

He pushed Remus' legs further apart and dipped his head down to lap at the werewolf's scrotum with his tongue.

"Oh, fuck, Sirius —" he heard Remus moan.

He chuckled and then, with a slurp, sucked one of the balls into his mouth, remembering that as something that Remus had introduced to him just a few short months ago.

The werewolf's hips jerked and Sirius released him so he could pin Remus back down to the bed—and give him a wicked grin, knowing full well that Remus was watching every move he made. "Like that, do you?"

Remus' voice was harsh. "You know I do."

"Did _Michel_ teach you that?" Sirius asked, only half teasing.

"Dammit, Sirius, now is most definitely _not_ the time..."

"Don't you think I should know who to thank for teaching you these wonderful things that you do to me?" And with that, Sirius leaned down to tease Remus' balls with his tongue again.

Remus cried out, "I'm going to —"

Before he could finish the sentence, Sirius reached up and squeezed the base of his lover's thick cock, making Remus half-sob with frustration and relief.

"You're not going to come until I know the one responsible for teaching you this," Sirius said, knowing that Remus could see just how serious he was. His tongue traced the vein on the underside of Remus' phallus, and the werewolf moaned as he realised where Sirius' tongue was heading. Again.

"Was it Michel?" Sirius demanded — and he let his teeth scrape tender skin.

"Fuck! No! It wasn't him!"

Sirius' eyebrows rose in surprise, but he refused to let himself be hurt. He could afford to let the past remain the past; he and Remus had the present—and the future. "Who then?"

Remus laughed, but it was a breathy, scratchy sound. "Brigitte."

"_Brigitte_?" He stared at Remus in disbelief. "Someone named _Brigitte_ taught you that?"

There was a minute while Remus struggled to control his laughter and then gave up.

It wasn't often that the sandy-haired man laughed so freely, so Sirius let him have the moment, even if it was at the Animagi's expense. Besides, it gave him a chance to come up with a retort: "I suppose you had to resort to women, because, after all, none of the men could compare to me."

Remus grunted in agreement—or maybe it was because Sirius had just sucked his not-unconsiderable length into his mouth.

Still, that didn't stop the werewolf from saying, "Wait until you see what I learned from Julie..."

**Well? Should I ever write slash again? (Yes, that's a blatant plea for reviews...)**


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